7 Heavenly Virtues
by vicodin-vixens
Summary: A companion piece to '7 Deadly Sins' only without the same parameters. Not necessarily first-kisses, more whatever fell out of our brains at the time. Warning: Slash. We own nothing but a pair of tarnished halos and a recipe for angel food cake.
1. Chastity

**Chastity**

Wilson was in a slump.

It had been 17 weeks, 4 days and 11 hours since the last time he'd had sex.

Not that he was counting or anything. That would be juvenile.

That would be something House would do.

And in terms of comparison, Wilson and House were polar opposites.

Though, if this unwanted bout of abstinence continued for much longer, Wilson conceded he might have to take a page out of House's book and call in a...er, professional. There were only so many cold showers a guy could take, after all.

There was a glimmer of hope for Wilson after lunch, though.

The new on-duty nurse, Janice, was waiting for him outside his office.

She had gone out for coffee with Wilson a few days ago, and things had gone well enough. She wasn't exactly what Wilson was looking for, but at this point (and he hated himself for admitting it) he couldn't afford to be too discerning.

Besides, Wilson thought, giving her his best smile, she wasn't likely to hang around PPTH much longer. No one who wasn't a glutton for punishment ever did.

"Janice!" Wilson said warmly, then touched her elbow, guiding her towards his office.

He knew he had it in the bag when she giggled and looked at him from lowered eyes. Wilson bit back the impulse to laugh, and invited her to dinner.

At his place.

She accepted on the spot, and was even bold enough to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

"Score!" Wilson muttered, punching his hands in the air in a gesture of triumph.

When Wilson's door opened again minutes later, he was so sure it was Janice, that he didn't even look up from the patient file he was examining.

"You're pretty enough as it is," he said, laying it on thick, "You don't need to dress up."

"Oh, sweetie," came House's deep voice in reply, "You always did have a way with words."

Wilson fought the blush rising in his cheeks. "House."

House made himself comfortable on Wilson's couch.

"I should probably just move that couch into your office," Wilson said, dropping the file on his desk, "You spend enough time on it, anyway."

House scowled. "The point, _Romeo_, is to spend as little time possible in my own office."

"Of course. God forbid you do any actual work."

"I've done lots of work today," House pointed out, and at Wilson's raised-eyebrow expression, he continued, "For example, I know that you're on an extended period of uninvited chastity, which you hope will end tonight when you bang that nurse."

Wilson winced at the crude choice of phrasing, then shook his head. "How do you always know these things? It's a little creepy. And why do you care anyway?"

House brought a hand to his chest, looking deeply offended, "I _care_, Wilson. It's who I am."

"Right. Go. Now."

House pried himself off the sofa and limped for the door. "A little advice? Make the ravioli. Chicks dig the ravioli."

"Thanks..." Wilson said, surprised.

***

It seemed House was right - chicks dig the ravioli.

Wilson and Janice were now well past dessert (a Creme Caramel that Wilson picked up on the way home) and onto their fourth glass of wine.

The lights were dimmed, candles flickering and soft music was playing in the background.

Shyly, Wilson put a tentative hand on Janice's knee, noting with some amusement just how short her skirt was. This was almost too easy.

She turned, and he fought the urge to grin as she angled her head towards his and parted her lips for a kiss.

Wilson's heart raced in anticipation as he invaded her mouth with his tongue and slowly slid his hand up her thigh.

Janice went to work on the buttons of his shirt, and Wilson could hear her soft moans of pleasure.

He pushed her shoulders back gently, and she went willingly, stretching out along the couch, and then Wilson had his hands in her hair, tilting her head back as he kissed his way down her neck.

Wilson had a hand up her shirt and was kneading a very full breast when his front door swung open so hard it hit the wall behind it.

He looked up, blinking in the sudden glare of the light shining in from the hallway, only to immediately recognize the silhouette standing in the doorway.

"House?" He grumbled dazedly.

"Am I too late?" House asked eagerly, brandishing a small camcorder in his palms.

Wilson looked apologetically at Janice, who was frozen in fear, and trying frantically to dislodge Wilson, who was still straddling her.

"Too late for what?" Wilson snarled, "Get out of here, House!"

House moved closer, catching Janice's frightened expression with his camera. "You told me to be here by 10:15 at the latest."

Now, Wilson sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Filming, obviously," House replied, rolling his eyes, "For your collection? Geez, Wilson. You _always_ ask me to tape your....uh...dates."

Janice looked at Wilson angrily, "What?!"

"HOUSE!" Wilson exploded, standing up and starting to pace his living room, as Janice quickly gathered up her shoes and purse.

"No, no, don't go," he pleaded, trying in vain to grasp at her wrist, but she shook him off, and headed for the door, "Janice, don't go. He's leaving. You were just leaving, weren't you, House?"

But, House had already settled himself in Janice's vacated spot on the couch, and was filming her steadily, starting at her legs, and working his way upwards. "I haven't gotten the good stuff yet..."

"I'm sorry." Wilson said softly, only she had already gone, giving the door a resounding slam as she left.

He turned his attention to House, who had turned the camera towards him and still filming.

"Are you-? What-?" Wilson sputtered, unable to focus his anger into some sort of coherent sentence.

House finally set the camera on the coffee table and stood up to face Wilson, his face a mask of innocence. "You're mad."

"Of course I'm mad!" Wilson snapped, "What the hell were you thinking?"

House shrugged. "She wasn't your type anyway."

"Yes, because willing and pretty are _so_ not my type. What the hell do you care anyway?"

"I told you before; _I care,_ therefore _I am_," House said, grinning slightly.

"Yeah, well..." Wilson trailed off, and stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing House dangerously. "I was _this_ close. _This_ close, House."

"Good things come to he who waits," House replied, his grin widening.

Wilson took a step closer to House, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, "My good thing is in a taxi on her way home. I'm done waiting. You owe me."

House smirked. "Ha ha."

"Who's laughing?" Wilson replied.

And without warning, he grasped either side of House's face and pulled him closer.

House froze, but didn't pull away. Wilson traced House's closed lips with his tongue until they opened, and then he delved inside.

Even more surprising, was when Wilson felt House's hand slide up underneath his open shirt. Wilson gasped at the touch, and deepened the kiss.

He rotated his hips slightly, and came into hard contact with House's own erection. The sensation was incredible, but it just wasn't enough.

Wilson broke the kiss, but didn't move away. "House." he said hoarsely.

House looked down at him, lips moist from the kiss. "Say it."

Wilson kissed him again. "I want you."

"Say it."

Quietly, Wilson murmured, "I want to fuck you."

"Louder."

Emboldened by the fact that House still hadn't moved, Wilson looked up and repeated himself. "I want to fuck you."

House smiled wickedly, "Why, Wilson. There's something you should know first."

"What?" Wilson asked, head still reeling from the unexpected turn of events and the fact that the whole thing with House felt so much better than it had with Janice. So much..._more_.

"I don't put out on the first date." House laughed, turned and limped towards the kitchen, leaving a very flustered Wilson in his wake. "Got any more ravioli?"

***

**A/N: Sorry! Remember: the story is called 'CHASTITY' ;)**


	2. Diligence

**Diligence**

**A/N: Happy Birthday, V2!! And just so you know, like House, you are always right. Unlike Wilson, however, I don't mind admitting that to you. And also - YOU are the ultimate :D**

*******

The war was on.

Wilson should've known better, but he was tired of House always getting his way. Tired of House always being right.

And so, he had disagreed with House last night.

Strictly on principle.

Of course House was always right. And this was no exception.

But Wilson wasn't willing to admit that. He figured that with such a minor disagreement, House might let it go, and then Wilson could work his way up to something more substantial.

Wilson should've known better.

The first indication that House wasn't about to let the subject die without a fight was evident when Wilson woke up.

House was already gone. That was never a good sign.

Wilson rubbed his eyes and shuffled into the bathroom for a shower.

Funnily enough though, the clock in the bathroom registered a full half-hour later than the one in his bedroom.

House had obviously turned back the clock in hopes of Wilson oversleeping.

It worked.

"Bastard." Wilson muttered through gritted teeth.

He hated being late. And of course, House knew that.

Still, he could not forego his customary shower, he'd just have to make it a quick one.

After his less-than-satisfactory shower, he dressed (minus the tie, that didn't come until he was ready to head out the door) and stood in front of the mirror to get started on the blow drying.

A quick flick of the 'ON' button - and an explosion of white powder filled the bathroom.

House had filled Wilson's hair dryer with talc.

Knowing there was no way he'd have time for another shower.

Wilson stood coughing and trying to towel as much powder out of his hair as possible.

He made it to work only slightly later than usual and his assistant took one look at his suddenly greying hair and frazzled expression and decided it was best not to ask questions.

Wilson figured she was smart enough to determine the cause behind his frustration, anyway. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist.

With House, Wilson thought it was a wonder he hadn't gone prematurely grey already.

He avoided any more of House's childish ministrations until just before lunch, just as he thought maybe it was safe to let his guard down.

Wrong, of course.

That's when he headed for the Clinic, in order to give a consult to the on-call doctor.

Dr. Jakobs was waiting for him in Exam Room 2, a sheaf of paper in her hands, a smile on her lips.

Wilson looked around the empty exam room and raised his eyebrows. "You needed a consult?"

"Why, Dr. Wilson," she crooned, "I never knew what you were hiding beneath your lab coat."

Wilson felt the familiar blush heat his cheeks.

"Excuse me?" he sputtered.

Laughing now, Dr. Jakobs thrust the paper at him. He looked down at the picture of the muscular, very well-endowed figure on the paper.

Then realized House had super-imposed Wilson's head on the porn-star type body.

"House." Wilson seethed.

Dr. Jakobs only laughed harder.

"He certainly is a lucky man." she said, gasping for breath and holding her sides.

With the paper clutched tightly in his hands, Wilson stormed out of the room in search of House.

"He's in Dr. Cuddy's office." said Tara, who was Cuddy's personal assistant.

Wilson nodded curtly towards her and tried to ignore the smirk in her eyes as he made a beeline for Cuddy's office.

House was sitting in her chair, feet up on her desk, pretending to read a battered copy of _'Better Homes and Gardens'_.

"Very funny." Wilson said, allowing the picture to flutter down on top of the desk.

House looked over the pages of the magazine and gave the manipulated picture a cursory glance. Then he set the magazine down and stared at Wilson.

"Enough is enough, House. This is childish. Ridiculous. It ends now."

"Okay." House stated simply.

"I mean, oversleeping was one thing, and the talc in the hairdryer I should've at least expected, but this, this is just... wait. What?" Wilson stopped and stared back at House, certain he had misunderstood.

"I said okay." House repeated and smiled at the look of utter bewilderment on Wilson's face. "While we're here, let me make it up to you."

His blue eyes flashed dangerously as he reached for Wilson and pulled him closer.

"What are you-? No! This is Cuddy's office! Are you insane?"

Wilson batted ineffectually at House's hands, which were now attempting to unfasten Wilson's belt buckle.

"She's got a meeting until 1:30, that gives us plenty of time. Now come here and give me some sugar."

He wrapped a hand around Wilson's tie and tugged, lowering Wilson enough to capture his lips in a frantic kiss.

"House," Wilson moaned, reaching around to support himself on the back of Cuddy's chair, "We can't do this. Not here. Not now. Oh, god."

House had succeeded in undoing Wilson's belt and had now slid his hand down inside of Wilson's pants and was stroking him furiously beneath the fabric.

"Oh my god." Cuddy's voice echoed, and Wilson stood up quickly, trying to tuck his shirt back in.

House leaned back and folded his arms beneath his head.

Cuddy had someone behind her, and she turned, blocking their view of House and Wilson as she called out to her assistant. "Tara, could you please take Mrs. Phillips to get a cup of coffee?"

Then she closed the door and looked in disapproval at the two of them. Slowly, measuring her words, she said, "Joyce Phillips is a potential donor. A _huge_ donor. What on earth are the two of you doing making out in my office?!"

House looked wide-eyed and innocent as he pointed an accusing finger in Wilson's direction. "Wilson started it."

Flushing an even deeper shade of red, Wilson opened and closed his mouth several times, never making a coherent sound.

"I expect something like this from you," Cuddy said, now motioning to House, "Get out."

He winked at Wilson, grabbed his cane and hobbled out of the office, whistling as he went.

"Wilson," Cuddy began, looking severely disappointed, "What's gotten into you?"

"I...he...I" Wilson sputtered, pacing the floor and raking a hand through his hair.

Eventually, he found the words to tell Cuddy the entire story, beginning to end. And she looked at him sadly, "You do know he's right, don't you?"

He threw his hands up in the air, "I know that! But that doesn't mean that he has to know that! Aren't you tired of giving him his own way? Don't you just want to be right once in awhile?"

Cuddy's eyes softened, "Of course I do, Wilson. But that's not the point. He gets his own way because, one, he's almost always right. And two, you know as well as I do that he's not going to back down once he thinks he's right. Ever. And that usually means hell to pay for whoever stands in his way. Trust me, there's nothing I'd like more than to prove him wrong, but that's not going to happen any time soon." She took a breath and smiled, "In the meantime, it helps my hospital run a whole lot smoother if he's happy and not wreaking havoc on me. Or my employees."

Wilson put his hands on his hips and stared her down, "I'm not going to agree with him on this. No matter if he's right or not."

"You will," she replied, taking his elbow and leading him towards the door, "You just don't know it yet."

As Wilson walked out of Cuddy's office, he saw several of the nurses pointing discreetly at him and laughing. Apparently the altered posters had been widely circulated throughout the hospital. He blushed again and strode quickly over to the elevators.

He managed to have a quick, quiet lunch in his office and mull things over without any interruptions. He was stubbornly sticking to his guns this time, and he figured the stunt in Cuddy's office would be the most embarrassing thing House could do to him today.

Wilson should've known better.

He returned from patient rounds, and was informed by Kenzi that Mr. Downes was early for his appointment. She nodded towards an young gentleman, who stood quietly, holding his hat in his hands.

"Mr. Downes, nice to see you," said Wilson, offering the man his hand to shake, "Why don't we go inside my office and sit down. Let me just grab your charts."

Wilson opened the door and ushered Mr. Downes inside, motioning him to sit down in the chair in front of the desk. He opened the file and began perusing the contents, while the gentleman made himself comfortable.

"Might not want to leave that stuff out where everyone can see it." Wilson heard the man say.

"I'm sorry?" Wilson asked, not looking up from the paperwork.

Mr. Downes coughed and when Wilson did look up, it was hard to say who was more embarrassed.

Sitting on Wilson's desk was an assortment of sex toys, including a penis pump, a leather studded cock ring, and a giant bottle of Anal Eze desensitizing gel.

Wilson's eyes darted between the display on his desk, and the young man, who looked more than a little uncomfortable.

"That's not mine." Wilson said stupidly, and hurried over to sweep the offending items into his desk drawer.

"Uh. Okay. Maybe I should just come back next week." he said, getting up to leave, and not turning his back on Wilson.

"No!" Wilson said, maybe a little too emphatically, then looked immediately chagrined, "Well, maybe it would. I'm really very sorry. It's my..."

The guy raised his hand, "You don't need to explain it."

Wilson shook his head, wondering if he would ever get used to this kind of humiliation, "It's my co-worker. He...uh...well"

"Look, I said you don't need to explain it. I'll make an appointment with your secretary on my way out."

He closed the door behind him and Wilson sank heavily into his chair, his cheeks flushed scarlet.

Once he was certain Mr. Downes had left, he quietly pulled open the drawer, his fascination getting the best of him.

Where did House get all this...._stuff_? It certainly wasn't theirs. Wilson didn't think it was, anyway.

One way to find out.

House was in the middle of a differential when Wilson stormed through the door.

"Where did you get that stuff?" he demanded.

"Borrowed it from Chase," House said, and Wilson turned to Chase, who looked utterly mystified.

"_He's moonlighting as a gay stripper," _House whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Make sure you return it at the end of the day."

"I'll be sure to do that. Okay, House, this is getting out of hand. You need to stop. Now."

"Ready to concede defeat? Tell me what I want to hear." House said, raising a hand to his ear.

Wilson's hands found their familiar place on his hips once again as he stared down House. "No. You're wrong."

"Okay, then," he said, and turned back to his team, "What causes seizure disorders and angiofibromas in someone with no other signs of TB?"

Wilson sighed and tuned out the rest of the conversation as he headed for the door.

He canceled the rest of his appointments for that day, he couldn't afford any more embarrassment at the hands of his immature and childish partner.

He decided he would spend the rest of the day catching up on emails and paperwork. There was never any shortage of that.

Logging in to his email account, he was surprised to see one from House. House didn't normally send emails. He was of the opinion that whatever had to be said was best said face-to-face.

And there were two attachments.

Not good.

Glancing furtively around the room, Wilson clicked on the first attachment. It was a newspaper article.

Young James Wilson, 14, had entered and won the State-Wide Polka Championship. Where House had gotten his hands on this clipping, Wilson had no idea.

Okay, so polka dancing was occasionally enough to humiliate someone, but it ranked pretty low on the scale of House-worthy embarrassment.

Wilson shielded his eyes and blindly opened the second attachment. This time it was a video.

And this time, Wilson _knew_ where House had gotten the footage. The view of their bedroom from inside the closet. Wilson didn't know when the film had been made, but he knew this was beyond mere mortification.

If this video circulated, and House's email assured him it would if he didn't give in, Wilson could lose his respectability as a doctor. He could lose his job. He could lose his license.

He cradled his head in his hands, and wondered how something so trivial could have gotten so out of hand.

Then he remembered.

House.

Of course.

Every defeat was considered a personal slight against House, even if it had nothing to do with him. Wilson was left with no viable option other than acceptance.

He would have to suck up his pride and his wounded ego and tell House he was right.

The thought left a bad taste in Wilson's mouth, as it had so often done.

He figured that something so frivolous would be easy to get away with. That House would simply agree to disagree.

Wilson should've known better.

He picked up the phone and dialed House's extension.

"Yeess?" came the expectant reply.

"Okay. You win. Like always. I give up."

"Say it."

"Isn't it enough that I just told you you were right?"

"Of course not. Say it." House barked.

Once again, Wilson heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, "The Tenth Doctor is the ultimate."

It pained Wilson that he could virtually _hear_ House grin on the other end of the phone. "Of course, you knew that all along, didn't you?"

"Of course," Wilson said, struggling to keep himself from smiling. "I just didn't want to let you know. Obviously there is no comparison to the Tenth Doctor."

"Obviously." House agreed and hung up the phone.


	3. Patience

Gregory House was many things: curmudgeon, genius, misanthrope, narcissist. But patient he was not.

And he was getting sick and tired of waiting.

While subtlety was never his style, he had previously been afraid that his usual brusque approach might be enough to scare Wilson off for good. So he'd tried something out of the ordinary. He tried waiting for Wilson to make the first move.

Which, of course, had never happened. Wilson was simply too..._Wilson_ to take that all-important first step in moving their relationship from best friends to something more. Wilson was probably too worried about what would become of their friendship if they took it any further.

Friendship be damned, House thought. He just wanted in Wilson's pants. And he was sure that once he got there, Wilson would never want him to leave. All that was left was for House to get there in the first place.

House had a plan, and tonight he was putting said plan into action.

He'd arranged to get home before Wilson (that was the easy part) and had dinner already on the table when Wilson walked through the door.

Seated at the small kitchen table, House watched with a smirk, as Wilson went through his 'coming-home' ritual of hanging up his jacket, aligning his prissy Italian loafers against the wall, and loosening his tie.

"Did hell freeze over?" Wilson asked, surveying the elaborate table setting. He picked up an expensive bottle of wine. "Wine? Really? And not even your usual box. What's the occasion?"

"I'm going to get you drunk, and take your sweet, sweet virginity." House said simply.

As predicted, Wilson flushed and averted his gaze. "Dinner smells good." He muttered, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Wilson raised an eyebrow as House filled up his wineglass, but didn't say anything.

"Drink up. This will go a lot easier if you actually get drunk. Of course, I really don't mind either way."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Alright, House. If you say so." He raised his glass and took a long swallow.

"Atta boy." House smiled, then topped up Wilson's wine glass.

Wilson gave him that look again. The one that let House know Wilson thought he was crazy. Certifiably so. And maybe he was. Though he'd save that introspection for _after_ he banged Wilson.

"I have to say," Wilson mumbled around a mouthful of food, "Whatever the reason, I appreciate you cooking dinner tonight."

"You'll appreciate me even more after I've deflowered your mahogany knot."

"Just how much wine did you have before I got home?" Wilson asked incredulously, dropping his fork with a clatter.

House just shook his head. "None."

"I'm...confused."

House fought the urge to laugh. "Thick is more like it." Then he leered, "In _all_ the right places."

"This isn't funny, House."

"It's not meant to be."

Wilson gaped. "You - you're...serious?"

"As a heart attack. Only what I have planned is way more fun than a heart attack. Though both produce shortness of breath and sweating."

House struggled out of his chair and went to stand over Wilson. Without a word, he took Wilson's hand and placed it on his crotch. Undoubtedly, Wilson could feel his hardness through his jeans.

Wilson closed his eyes, but didn't pull his hand away.

House leaned down and pressed his lips against Wilson's, using his tongue to separate them. Wilson made a little breathy noise and House smiled into the kiss. His plan was working perfectly.

"House." Wilson whispered.

House reluctantly broke the kiss and took a step backwards. "I know. While the kitchen is the perfect place for a romantic tryst, I think I'd prefer the bedroom instead."

"This can't be happening." Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It can. In fact, it is." House replied, reaching once more for Wilson's hand and coaxing him out of his chair. "Trust me."

Wilson cocked his head to one side. "Trust _you_?"

"Yes." House placed his palms on either side of Wilson's face and kissed him again. "Trust me."

Wilson looked doubtful, but only for a second. Then surprising both of them, he shrugged. "Why not?"

"Exactly!" House beamed, his eyes glinting.

"And if I regret it in the morning?"

"Live and learn, as I always say." House said, giving Wilson a gentle shove in the general direction of the bedroom, "But you won't regret it."

"You're sure?"

"Hello? Have we met? Of course I'm sure. I'm even sure I'm sure."

Wilson made his confused face and shook his head. "You really haven't been drinking? Or - or worse?"

They reached House's bedroom, and Wilson looked like he was still ready to bolt at a moment's notice. House used his cane to shut the door, then tossed it on the floor. He shoved Wilson's chest, and stood between Wilson's legs when he fell backwards onto the unmade bed.

"Trust me."

"Famous last words." Wilson muttered.

But he did anyway.


End file.
